I’ll open with the video.  It’s a little long at almost 3 minutes but I DO NOT CARE.  I couldn’t cut it.  It’s too fucking cute.  NOTE:  I also had to incorporate an f-bomb in here somewhere.  With my absence, there has been a gloomy lack of f-bombs surrounding my online presence.

Untitled from Somer Canon on Vimeo.

And now a story about Lukas:

We all had some sort of horribly virulent cold/flu.  It lasted for almost 4 weeks.  During this time, Lukas found it amusing to keep removing his socks when downstairs in the family room and running around bare-foot.  If we had carpet this would not bother me, but we have stone and hardwood floors and this house is old and drafty.  So I gave him a talking-to about not taking his sock off anymore and made him understand that bare-feet in cold weather is a very bad thing.

The next morning, I awoke to my adorable three year-old standing next to my bed staring at me.  He was totally nude with his blankey wrapped around his neck like a super hero cape.  I sat up and asked why he was naked.  He smiled a huge smile and said,
“Look, Mommy!”

He had stripped himself totally naked, but had had the presence of mind to put socks on.

A lead-in is not necessary for this.  Just enjoy.

Untitled from Somer Canon on Vimeo.

Can I just pretend like my birthday isn’t happening next year?  Can I just treat it as any other day please?  This way, when things go to hell, I won’t have this nagging in my head that it should be a special day where I’m treated like a princess and everything is a fairy tale and unicorns farting candy corn.  Because, really, it IS another day.

A day that has been like an anti-happy enema for the past 3 years AT LEAST.

Two years ago, we were still living in Washington.  I had already made up my mind to move back East at this time.  Bad things just kept compacting themselves on top of me and crushing me.  By the time my birthday came around, we were too broke to actually do anything.  No cake.   No nice dinner.  But if it had been just another day, if I weren’t nagged by this impression that I needed it to be special because it was my birthday, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal.

A year ago I was pregnant and sick with HG.  My mom tried to help and make it nice.  We got take out food from a Mexican restaurant that screwed our order up massively and we ended up waiting for nearly an hour for them to hand us a bag of ice cold soggy food.  I couldn’t eat it anyway.  It wouldn’t have been anything other than laugh-worthy if it weren’t for that feeling that things should have been special for me.

This year we were all sick.  A 4 moth-old, a 3 year-old, a 28 year-old and a 29 year-old all laying around moaning, crying, sniffling, coughing, complaining, not sleeping, not really wanting to eat, and just flat out miserable.  Again, my mom was trying to make it special.  She was very sweet about everything, but I was just done.  I was done with the whole birthday thing.

Next year, I’m taking the calendar and physically cutting the little square that represents that day OUT of the calendar so that for one year I can be free of the “But it’s my birthday!” curse.  Maybe without the expectations (I shouldn’t be having them anymore anyhow) that the day should be great, I can relax and just enjoy the little things in my day.  Like a giggle from one of my sons or a quiet moment to myself after they have gone to bed.  Maybe a nice cold sandwich with a soda and a fat piece of cake by myself.

Birthdays after the age of 18 can #suckit.

Well, I like the presents.  That’s still cool.  But the day itself?  Let me just sleep through it, please.